The Work of a God
by Senile-felineS
Summary: Challenge number one. What is Light decided to end things differently. Especially as regards a certain sycophantic model. Warning: Non-graphic character death. Please read and review so that I can become a better writer.


**A/N: In an attempt to break out of a MUNDO case of writers block, I have set myself a series of challenges. This is the first one. It is very much alternate universe; but to put it into context, it would be roughly near the end of the show. Enjoy, and please leave feedback if you read. I am writing this to try and improve and I can't do that if nobody lets me know what they think.**

**Disclaimer: I do not, have never and (short of a very strange set of circumstances) will never own death note.**

**Warning: Just to reiterate, this centres on character death. If that bothers you, perhaps you should stop reading now.**

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She just couldn't do it anymore. None of it. It was all too much to bear. All of it. The confusion, the deep sense of loss, the gaps in her memory. She was missing something, it was important. More important than anything else in her life. And it was hanging there, just out of reach. And it was tormenting her.

Had she done something? Said something? What was it? She knew that with just one more piece of information, it would all slip into place. Like the puzzle piece with the face on it. Something that would force everything else make sense.

Misa starred down at the surface of the table with eyes fixed, flicking between the two things she had put there. Focusing desperately on first one then the other. She reached her hand towards one of them, wavering for a moment and then grasped the other. Pulling the black notebook over to her. She flipped the cover open and began turning the pages, reading over the entries. She grasped a pen for a moment, holding it poised over the page, before throwing it back down with a clatter.

She turned back over the pages, reading what she had written for the thousandth time. Trying to derive some sort of meaning from the collection of ramblings that covered each page. She paused, yet again, on one particular page. The ink smudged with tears and the edges crumpled from much handling. The writing was haphazard and shaky, only barely legible. But she didn't need to read it to know what it said, she had read over this page so many times in the last month that she knew what it said off by heart.

_He loves someone else. Misa knows he does. Everyone thinks that Misa don't see what is going around. Poor dumb Misa. She doesn't understand. But it's not true. Misa knows he doesn't love her anymore._

_There's a reporter off the TV. She was at University with Light-kun. She spoke to Misa and it was something she said. Misa just knew. So Misa said she was engaged to Light-kun. But the reporter wouldn't get it._

_Why can't Misa be smart? Smart smart smart smart smart. Then Light-kun would love her._

She had began keeping a diary when it first started. The memory loss. Trying to keep track of anything that came back to her. There was something about the book, black cover, A4, unlined pages that felt familiar to her in a strange comforting way. As if such a book was meant to have important things written in it.

But it had not helped at all.

Some pages contained long accounts; others just short snippets and desperate pleadings. No two entries reading quite the same.

_Help me! Someone please help me, I'm so scared. It's all slipping away. I don't want to lose any more of my mind. Why won't anyone just tell me what is going on?_

_I looked over the pictures again today, the ones in the magazines. I looked so different then, happy. I was so happy, but at the same time so very not happy. Why do Misa's eyes always look so sad?_

Her eyes overflowed again, adding more streaks to her already makeup-blackened face. What had been a tremble in her hands was now a violent shake as she turned to a clean page of the notebook. Drawing a sleeve roughly across her cheeks to wipe away the moisture that was collected there, she picked up a pen. In unsteady script she started to write.

_If you find this it means that I have succeeded. I'm sorry, so sorry; I know it's wrong. But I just can't do it anymore. It's all losing, slipping; everything is going away from me. It's all too much for Misa to take. _

_I'm sorry Light-kun. I really did love you. Maybe one day you will love me as much._

With a slam she closed the book. She didn't want her note to get dirty.

Slowly she reached out and pulled the other thing towards her. The metal made a scraping noise on the wood of the desk. Despite the fresh tears that were running silently down her face, she felt a strange sense of calm as she lifted the gun towards her, with the barrel facing her like a tunnel to the next life.

She slowly closed her mouth over it, tasting cold steel in the back of her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut and placed her finger clumsily over the trigger. 'Goodbye Light-kun, I love you,' was her last thought.

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The sound of the shot rang out through the house. He looked up from His watch; it was done. He reached out and took hold of a shining red apple which He threw over His shoulder to where it was caught by his shinigami shadow.

He closed the deathnote, covering up the page of his work. As of yet this page had only one entry, written large and clear. Maybe He would keep it that way, a tribute to one who had been useful. Then again, maybe not.

_Amene Misa, Death by suicide at 7:25 pm, can think of nothing else beforehand. Writes a note absolving 'Light-kun.'_

Behind Him Ryuk laughed raucously, but He was beyond that, above that. Light smiled, a cold cruel smile; exultation without mirth. The smile of a True God.

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**A/N: Thank you for reading. I hope you liked the story. Just one thing that I want to say to all my readers. If this brought up anything, please don't keep it bottled up. No matter how alone you feel you are, or how much it hurts, suicide is never the better option and there will always be someone who will be hurt by your actions. Talk to someone you trust because it is always worth living through tomorrow. Okay, I'll get off the soapbox now.**


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